


Behind In The Washing

by hbomba



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Canon Lesbian Character, Canon Lesbian Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Fridget, Season/Series 03, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-12-07 01:17:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18227966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hbomba/pseuds/hbomba
Summary: Franky tends to the homestead and ruminates on her new life.





	Behind In The Washing

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place between 3x12 and 4x1.

* * *

The objective of cleaning is not just to clean, but to feel happiness living within that environment.--Marie Kondo

* * *

Birds chirped outside Bridget’s secluded bungalow as Franky plopped down on the bed. It was noon, Bridget had left long ago for work, and Franky was left to mind her home. So far that morning, Franky had spent a considerable time reading the paper, which she justified by looking for jobs and reading the funnies because--well, she didn’t need a reason--she was free and that was reason enough. 

And now, having just cleaned the bathroom she was on her back on their bed taking a well-deserved break. Franky had to admit that she found housework deplorable but it was her way of pitching in until she went back to work. Cooking was no problem but laundry and scrubbing were tedious tasks that Franky would rather forget about altogether. 

Sitting up, Franky sighed, scanning the room. Bridget was far from a neat-freak, something Franky had expected, but the reality of it was she thought that a psychologist wouldn’t have many shrinkable issues, and she was right. Bridget was the most well-adjusted person Franky had ever come across. Then again, she just spent four years in prison so the pool of people in her orbit wasn’t very noteworthy, save a few.

She inhaled the sweet scent of potpourri and Bridget’s perfume, still mingling on their sheets. Franky had never truly been enamored with a woman before. Sure, there were plenty she wanted to fuck, but no one had ever really made her hot to get to know them. Until Bridget, that is. Fact was, Franky was a selfish shit most of the time, and Bridget’s example had made her see how selfless someone could be and in turn how selfish Franky really was.

When she was locked up in Wentworth, all she did was think about the psychologist. She wondered what she did in her free time, what her favorite food was, but mostly how she liked it in bed. Franky’s one-track mind was legendary, after all.

Now that she knew all the answers to those questions and more, Franky was no less enthralled by the blonde than she was before. And, as it turned out, they were well-matched as far as what track their mind’s were on, too. 

Franky flopped back onto the bed, not ready to get on with things just yet. She just wanted to lay on the feather duvet bathed in Bridget’s perfume and inhale her scent until she came home. Glorious, was the only way to describe how she felt in their bed (formerly Bridget’s) and Franky was sure she could probably get away with staying in bed all day and even entice Bridget to join her when she returned home. Bridget was easy like that. 

Her eyes drifted to the digital clock on the night table and she groaned. Clambering out of bed, Franky went to work picking up and sorting laundry. Bridget had complained about the washing in her sweet way--the kind way that reminded her gently without nagging or calling attention to some fault of hers that had made her not do her chores. 

Bridget was, in a word, accommodating. Whether from her years of training or personal dogma, if it was within Bridget’s power, she would do it. And that wasn’t just for Franky, either. She gave of herself to every life she touched, so much so that sometimes Franky wondered how she had anything left for herself.

Franky remembered her first conversation with Bridget--if you could call it that--when she asked ‘what’s in it for me?’ After everything Bridget had done for her, she felt shame for yet another selfish question. She was trying hard in her post-Wentworth life to be more like her gorgeous Gidge.

_ What Would Gidget Do? _

The first time she asked that of herself, it was a joke. Then she realized the merit of the phrase, of the everlasting message hidden within--’I am better than this.’ After all, it was Bridget that led the way out of Wentworth, and Franky was obviously better for it. She had coping mechanisms to deal with her triggers and ten reasons to stay out of trouble, the main one being that she never wanted to go back to Wentworth. 

Sitting under a pile of warm laundry, Franky reflected on the newness she felt in herself. Love had shone a light on the deepest, darkest parts of Franky and consequently, she was working through her shit one angry notion at a time. The results were palpable as the anger slowly began to dissipate from her life. It did help that she had a hot girlfriend assisting with the changes she was making. 

Dropping some detergent into the washer, she loaded it again--Bridget would have her clean undies, by God. Her plan to induce no undies hadn’t worked and she wasn’t keen to share hers, so Franky would do the damn laundry. She wasn’t kidding when she said she missed the steam press. The simplicity of doing the same thing over and over again, while monotonous, it was satisfying to hear that hiss every time she pulled the press down.

By late afternoon, Franky had swept and polished the floors and started on dinner prep. Bridget would be home soon and she was eager to see her face when she saw what Franky had been doing all day. It wasn’t like her home was messy, but there had been little cleaning done since Franky moved in--there was always something better to be doing when they were home together and Franky had been too preoccupied with freedom to tend to the basics.

And freedom meant nights out with Bridget, nights  _ in  _ with Bridget, and the rest of the time she was planning for one or the other. Their relationship was new and intense. Sexual and spiritual, they melded together easily after Franky’s release, Bridget keeping up appearances at Wentworth while Franky searched for a job. Add to that the cleaning and cooking and it was domestic bliss and a bottle of wine.

After Franky finished cleaning, she took a shower and freshened up. The afternoon sun blazed off the side of the house, streaming in the bedroom windows. She luxuriated in the slow, artful way she was able to ready herself for Bridget’s homecoming. Returning to the kitchen, she pulled out the bottle of wine she’d placed in the freezer before her shower and poured a pair of glasses. She’d hear her car in the drive soon enough and then it would be another night in with the incomparable Gidget. She had a curried fish stew simmering away in the oven, the sweet and savory aromas teasing her nose and a home so lemony clean Martha Stewart would be proud--all that was missing was Bridget.

As if on cue, she heard the VW in the driveway. Franky sat on a stool at the island and waited for her to turn the corner from the front hall, clear prison-issued bags in tow. 

“Hey, baby,” Bridget’s smile lit up the room. “What smells so good?”

“Dinner,” she said with a cheeky grin.

She paused, taking stock of the lounge. “You cleaned.”

“Mmm, yeah. I washed your undies, too.”

Bridget walked around the island to stand in front of Franky. “You have been busy…” Franky slid a glass of wine towards Bridget. “Mmm, how’d you know?”

“I took a wild guess.”

Bridget sipped the wine before setting her glass down on the island again. She stepped in close to Franky. “Thank you,” she whispered against Franky’s lips before kissing her softly.

Franky smiled against her mouth. “It was therapeutic. Besides, I have to earn my keep somehow…”

“You’ll be working soon enough.” Bridget’s arms wrapped around her waist.

“Yeah, sure.” Franky looked away.

“What? You don’t think so?” Bridget studied her face in that unnerving way.

“Nah.”

“It’s just going to take some time, baby,” she said, reassuring Franky.

“Yeah, okay.” Franky smiled, but she could tell that Bridget didn’t buy it, and she quickly changed the subject. “Hungry?”

Hopping off the stool, Franky walked around the island to the oven and, opening the oven door, she lifted the casserole dish out with a towel. She set the dish on the range and lifted the lid to reveal a bright yellow soup.

“Oh, Franky, is that curried fish stew?”

“Yep,” she said, smiling slyly because she knew it was Bridget’s favorite. 

“If you knew the day I’ve had… this is just…  _ thank you _ .”

“Don’t thank me till you taste it.” She smirked and reached for a pair of white bowls. Spooning the chunks of white fish into the bowls first before the vegetables and broth. Finally, she finished the stew with a squeeze of fresh lime juice and delivered the bowls to the table.

“I’m just going to go get changed.”

Franky nodded as Bridget disappeared from the kitchen. She heard Bridget talking but couldn’t make out what she was saying and smiled as she delivered their wine glasses to the table. A few moments later, Bridget returned dressed more comfortably. Sitting at the table, Bridget smiled at her again. “Franky, the place looks great.”

“Glad you like it, Gidge.”

“And fish stew,” Bridget sighed happily. 

“I wanted to do something nice for ya. To say thanks for letting me stay here.”

“Oh,” Bridget chuckled. “But Franky, you don’t need to do all this.”

“Sure I do. I’m no freeloader.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“Eat up,” Franky gestured with a spoon.

Bridget smiled gratefully and dipped her spoon into the yellow broth. Bringing the spoon to her lips, she closed her eyes. She savored it for a moment before speaking. “Oh, Franky, it’s perfect.”

“Ta,” Franky smiled. Watching Bridget enjoy her food was one of the best things about living with her, followed closely by her laugh, and her sweet little snore when she sleeping beside her.

“I could get used to this.” 

Bridget smiled again and Franky’s heart cracked wide open. She was so beautiful and gentle and Franky honestly didn’t know what she did to deserve her. Maybe nothing, but there they were, gazing at each other across the table and Franky, too, was grateful.

“I love ya, Gidge,” she said earnestly.

“Franky, is everything all right?” The concern in her voice was apparent.

“Yeah, I’m good. Better than good, actually.” Franky studied her features, trying to memorize the moment. 

Relief apparent, Bridget reached across the table and took her hand. “Good, because this is amazing,” she motioned at her dinner. “But, you know, I have a surprise for you, too.”

Franky raised her eyebrows. “Oh?”

“I couldn’t find any undies this morning, so I went without.” Bridget looked across the table at her seriously.

A slow, sly smile crept across Franky’s face. “I can reheat the stew…”

“Mmm,” Bridget hummed taking another mouthful. “Darling, we need to talk about your need for instant gratification.”

“I’ll take my time, don’t worry.”

Bridget chuckled. “I’m not worried.”

Franky bit her lip and watched Bridget enjoy her meal in the consummate and excruciatingly slow way she’d perfected. Always a lady, Bridget dabbed her mouth with a napkin before setting it aside. She sipped her wine. Without a word, Bridget stood, sparing a glance over her shoulder before leaving the kitchen and walking down the hall to the bedroom.

Franky sat at the table for a moment, considering the food. It could all go bad for all she cared in that moment, but she knew she’d take care of it later. She lifted her glass and gulped the last of her wine before noisily returning it to the table. Life was good. 

Life was  _ damn  _ good.

And Franky couldn’t believe it was hers.


End file.
